We hurry past the cylinders, dwarfed by their size. Each has a small screen set into it at waist height, which whirs, beeps, and whistles endlessly, like old ladies gossiping to each other.
“Guys.” It’s Achilles, voice echoing through the comm. “Five minutes down, ten to go. Talk to me.”
“We’re in the lab.” Ling presses the comm into her ear. “En route to the mirror—there it is!”
Just like in the streams, the mirror matter sparkles and shimmers from inside the clear cylinder, suspended in the case-within-a-case.
“Storm, keep an eye out.” Ling eyes the case. “Let’s get to work.”
Using the small blowtorches strapped to their harnesses, Naz and Ling work together to start cutting a circle through the thick glass. The blue light of the torch burns as bright as the sun. It melts through the glass as if it were slicing through butter.
My heart is still pounding, but the adrenaline is making me clear and focused. My eyes sweep the room, searching for anything out of the ordinary. But we’re the only ones in here. I take a second to marvel at the sight of Ling and Naz, their faces hidden by the scary-looking masks, their bodies tight beneath their stretchy black outfits, working quickly and efficiently in tandem.
“Nine minutes.” Achilles’ voice comes quietly through the comms.
One circle. Ling catches the glass as it loosens, and hands it to me. I place it carefully on the floor under the case. Naz starts on the second.
As soon as the tip of her blowtorch pierces the inner case, a small pop of gas escapes, like pricking a balloon. The tube of mirror matter clatters to the bottom of the case, a small sound rendered huge by the silence. We all freeze for a second. The tube rolls to a stop, sloshing the viscous liquid inside, thick as wet concrete. Then, as nothing seems to happen, Naz starts cutting again.
My eyes keep flitting around the room. I notice something.
Set into the far wall that runs parallel to the corridor and entrance we came in is a black door. A holo of a small Trust logo hovers subtly in front of it. I frown. I think that’s a meeting room. Maybe there’s something in there that’ll help me answer the question that’s been gnawing at me since Ling and I met. What does the Trust want with an artilect?
I nudge Ling and jerk my chin in the direction of the door.
She glances over, and her eyes narrow. She nods.
“Guys,” Naz murmurs, directing our attention back to the case.
The second circle of glass falls into Ling’s gloved fingers. Without hesitation, Naz reaches into the case and grabs the tube.
“Eight minutes,” Achilles says.
We still have plenty of time.
“Get Monkey and Angel,” Ling whispers to Naz, then points to the door. Naz nods obediently. She hands the tube to Ling, who slips it neatly into a loop on her harness.
There’s a swab reader outside the door. I almost hope Abel’s pass doesn’t work. That might mean he’s not as involved with the Trust as I think he is.
“Welcome, Dr. Rockwood.”
With an almost imperceptible click, the door disappears. As smooth and quiet as water itself, the five of us disappear inside. The door reappears behind us, plunging us into darkness.
Slowly, our eyes begin adjusting. We are in a large windowless room, dominated by an enormous table and a dozen leather chairs. It is like the inverse of the tech room at Milkwood: coldly efficient, unflinchingly clean. The only sign of life is a long, rectangular square of plants running across the back of the room. One more step and I’d be standing in it. Looking down, I see there’s a little gap between the floor and the garden, and through the gap, I can see water and plant roots growing down toward it. Ling’s standing next to a large piece of scratch set into the wall like a square of sunlight.
“Where are you, what’s happening?” Achilles asks calmly.
“We have the mirror matter,” Ling says softly, eyes sweeping the room carefully. “Now we’re in a meeting room just off the lab.”
“There’s scratch,” I add. “I want to try turning it on.”
“Is it blue scratch?” Achilles asks.
“No,” I reply. “Regular.”
“Okay,” Achilles says cautiously. “There’s no security stream where you are, but I’ll run a search and try to find what you’re looking at.”
My fingers find the corner, pressing hard. The scratch glows gold and an intricate, crisp holo fills the table. Before any sound even begins, Ling mutes it with her eyes.
The holo is a map of Eden and the bordering Badlands, as far as the Bleached Seas circling the edges of the continent.
“Looks like some sort of presentation,” Achilles says. “I’m in. We can see it here too.”
Silently, the presentation begins. The words Project Aevum. Highly Classified, By Order of the Trust float out above everything, automatically matching to everyone’s individual eyelines.
Ling and I trade a quick look. Project Aevum? My chest is rising and falling with anticipation. This must be it.
The map starts moving. Eden fills the table, all the neighborhoods presented in perfect miniature. The Hive, Charity, Liberty Gardens. Lakeside, and the Farms. The snaking streets of the South Hills, and beyond them, overlooking all of Eden, the Three Towers. I can almost see the palatial floor of Gyan’s private quarters, right at the tip of the biggest of the three buildings.
From a single building in the Hive, a red dot glows, pulsing slowly. I recognize the location of the building—it’s where we are now. I assume that dot represents Aevum.
The view pans out to display the entire continent. Now tiny white-walled Eden is dominated by the expanse of the Badlands. Small black dots appear, labeling the human population. Numbers and graphs indicate first the two million in Eden, and then the two hundred million out in the Badlands.
It’s strange to think those tiny clusters of dots represent people. I can almost make out Kep Sai’an, a thousand miles west, on the outskirts of the Manufacturing Zone. Glancing at Ling, I see she’s looking at the same place. Sanako.
Then a new spray of dots appear. These are yellow. The words Substitute Population appear. Many yellow dots in Eden, but still quite a few in the Badlands. I can picture them easily—mostly older, clunkier models, like my old friend Robowrong. I didn’t even know you could track every individual substitute, let alone what the point was.
“What the hell?” I hear Achilles mutter.
More floating words appear. Project Aevum. Simulation.
A large red circle spreads from the glowing red dot. It doesn’t change anything in Eden, but as soon as the edges of the red circle hit the yellow dots in the Badlands, they begin to turn red. The red circle keeps expanding, turning all the clusters of yellow dots in the Badlands red until it reaches the edges of the continent. The Badlands are now almost entirely filled with pulsing red dots. It looks diseased.
Then the black dots in the Badlands start disappearing.
“Look.” Naz’s voice is gruff. She points to a population counter for the Badlands. It is dropping. From a two hundred million to one hundred and ninety, one hundred and eighty, one hundred and seventy, and down down down.
“The population is getting smaller,” Ling says. “But how—why?”
“And why did all the yellow dots in the Badlands turn red?” Benji adds. “What’s happening to the substitutes?”
More floating words. Project Aevum. Test Case.
“Five minutes,” Achilles warns.
Lana sounds worried. “Guys, we’re getting close.”
The map disappears and is replaced by a holo of a group of men in what looks like a typical Badlands water bar. About ten of them sit around squat tables talking and laughing, drinking mugs of disgusting, fetid water. My stomach turns at the sight of it—I can practically taste the foul liquid. A substitute works behind the bar—an old Builder, like Robowrong.
The Builder stops pouring the water. It jerks to attention, standing stiff and still. The men gl
ance over at it curiously.
I lean closer to get a better look at the men. The way they dress—the big brimmed hats and the coarse goat-hair ponchos—is familiar to me, but I can’t remember where from.
The Builder walks out from behind the bar. The way it moves is strange: more fluid and faster than a Builder should be able to. The men look on, obviously confused that a substitute is moving without an order. It’s heading for the door. One of the men calls out something to it, which makes the other men laugh. The Builder locks the door and stands in front of it. Slowly, the men stop laughing.
A man swaggers over to the Builder, reaching up to rap his knuckles on the substitute’s head.
The Builder lunges for the man’s throat. In a flash, the Builder’s lifting him up off the ground, so his feet dangle above the floor. My chest freezes in fear. Then the Builder brings an enormous hand down hard on the man’s skull. It smashes apart like a watermelon, spraying the room with chunks of brain and skull.
It happens so fast.
Lana gasps in horror, burying her head in Benji’s chest. Ling gags. I feel like someone just kicked me in the stomach, but I keep watching.
Stumbling over their chairs and tables, the other men try to escape. But the door is locked and the Builder is too strong. One by one, they meet a similar fate. One has his throat crushed. One is thrown against a wall. They have no weapons, no way to protect themselves, no chance at all.
The whole thing is over in less than twenty seconds. Then the presentation disappears.
I can’t move, can’t think, can’t breathe.
A stunned-looking Benji has his arm around Lana. Ling is supporting her weight with both hands planted on the desk. Suddenly I remember why I recognize the way the men dress. “That was in the Valley.”
“The Valley?” Ling repeats. “Like—”
“The Valley of Spines massacre.” Ten men in a bar, killed without rhyme or reason. I’d assumed it was an urban myth.
“Was that Aevum?” Lana asks. Her bright blue eyes are wet with tears.
“No,” I say. “That was just a regular Builder. But I think Aevum was controlling it.” As I say the words out loud, I realize they ring true. Kimiko is able to control all the systems in Abel’s home. It’s basically the same principle. “That’s why the Trust wants Aevum,” I realize with a jolt. “Because it can control substitutes.”
“They call it serfing,” says Achilles. “A ‘serf’ is a slave. But in tech speak, it means reprogramming something. Controlling it.”
“Aevum can serf other substitutes,” I think aloud. “It can control them.”
“But substitutes can’t kill people!” Lana exclaims shakily. “They’ve never been able to do that, not ever.”
“Because humans can’t program them to,” I say. “But Aevum isn’t human. The Trust must’ve worked out that artilects are different.”
Ling’s nodding slowly.
“And if Aevum can serf substitutes and make them kill,” I go on, “then the Trust is not to blame.”
“Whoa, hold up,” Naz says. “How would the Trust not be responsible for this? They own Aevum. This is all their doing.”
“Yeah, and even Edenites won’t stand for mass murder,” Ling says. “The Trust won’t be allowed to get away with this.”
“Because the Trust isn’t doing this directly—Aevum is,” I say. “Aevum’s the perfect scapegoat!”
“It could be weeks before anyone even found out,” Benji says. “The Trust controls the border crossings, and the Trust controls the streams.”
“Right, and afterward, they’ll probably just say Aevum malfunctioned or something,” Ling adds.
“For sure.” I nod. “They’ll put all the blame on Aevum and then destroy it. No blood on their hands, and everyone in the Badlands is dead.”
“But they’ve just shut off the aqueduct—why this too?” demands Naz.
I shrug. “Probably because this’ll be so fast. So . . . effective. Whatever the reason, this is real. This is going to happen.”
We stare at each other. Millions of Badlanders. Dead.
“Three minutes,” Achilles announces. “Time to move.”
Ling draws herself up and exhales hard. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Tess—”
But her words are cut off by an earsplitting alarm. Blue lights start flashing wildly. The door snaps, locking into place.
“What’s happening?” I yell. The high-pitched scream echoes through the whole building.
Ling shouts, “Spike, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know!” Achilles sounds panicked. “Liamond is working again!”
“What?” Ling yells.
Ling, Naz, and Benji struggle uselessly against the locked door. “Get us out of here!” I yell over the alarm.
“I can’t!”
Shouts outside: “What’s going on?”
Footsteps race for the room. A man’s yell: “It’s coming from in there!”
Another yell. “Override the code!” Then, just outside the door, “A drill at one a.m.? This has to be a malfunction!”
“Monkey, Angel. Left side,” Ling snaps into command. “Storm, Pitbull, behind me on the right.” I can barely hear her over the alarm.
Naz whips out a small razer pistol from her boot and tosses it to Ling. A second razer materializes in Naz’s hand. “Storm, get your knife.”
I pull Mack. I have no idea what to do when the door opens. We haven’t run a drill for this. Benji and Lana are flexing, limbering up. Ready to run—or fight. My heart is racing and on fire. Is Ling ready to kill someone? Is Naz? Am I?
chapter 12
The door disappears. Three Simutech scientists rush in, wincing at the piercing alarm—Frog, Noodles, and another man. They don’t see us pressed flat against the wall.
“How do we turn it—” But Frog doesn’t make it beyond that before Kudzu attacks.
Benji hurls his shoulder forward as he punches his scientist in the stomach. As the man doubles over in pain, Lana kicks his feet from under him, knocking him flat on his back. Benji grabs the man’s wrists while Lana gets the rope.
Naz lands one, then two, square punches on the second scientist’s jaw. It’s Noodles, the tall, skinny man I saw earlier. He tries to hit her back but she easily ducks his sloppy attempt. He stumbles and within seconds she has one arm twisted behind his back, the razer trained to his head. He jerks, panicked. Naz pulls his twisted arm tighter. He yells out in pain. “Okay, okay,” he gasps, relenting.
Ling’s target, Frog, is the biggest of the three. From his position on the other side of the long table, he has a precious few seconds to size up the situation.
“Don’t make me use this,” Ling warns, aiming the razer steadily as she advances toward him.
Frog shoots both hands up in surrender, looking terrified. I’m thankful I’m wearing the black mask; otherwise I’m sure he’d recognize me.
“Angel?” Ling calls. “Are there any more?”
I hear a dull thump. Someone cries out. Ling whips her eyes to see what’s wrong. It’s Benji’s scientist—Benji has flipped him over to finish tying his legs. But the second Ling takes her eyes off Frog, he punches her in the jaw. She staggers back, stunned. Before she can regain focus, he slams his fist into her stomach. The small razer clatters to the table. With a strangled gasp, Ling drops to her knees.
Frog lunges for the razer. Without time to aim, I flick Mack hard across the room. My knife plunges into his outstretched arm, pinning the sleeve to the table. Frog shouts, yanking his hand around desperately. I bolt forward and grab the stray razer. It’s lighter than I thought it’d be, and I’m not exactly sure how to fire it. But pointing it at Frog is enough to make him freeze. Keeping my gaze on him, I reach over and yank my knife out of the table. “I was aiming for your hand,” I tell him.
Ling limps over and takes the razer from me, then knees Frog in the groin. It’s his turn to groan. “Try that again and I’ll kill you,” she says.
<
br /> “Clear,” Lana calls. “Let’s go, let’s go!”
Benji has finished trussing up the wrists and ankles of his scientist, who wriggles like a fish on dry land. “Tie ’em or take ’em?” He nods at the other two men.
“Take ’em,” Ling says. “We don’t have time.”
Kudzu hustles everyone out. Ling’s last, shoving Frog out the door, but as she does, I see a silver streak go flying. The mirror matter. It’s on the ground, rolling toward the square of plants at the back of the room. Ling mustn’t have felt it; she’s already out the door. Everyone’s gone. I’m the only one who even saw it fall. Diving toward the plants, I can see it, only a foot down, nestled amid white tubular plant roots. But the gap between the floor and the garden isn’t big enough for more than half a hand.
“No!” I gasp in disbelief. Ignoring the pain, I try to shove my hand in farther, but it’s no good. The space is too small for me to reach the mirror matter.
“Storm, c’mon!” I hear Lana call.
In a panic, I rip away at the plants and clumps of dirt but my fingers find a metal grate at the bottom of the garden. “No!” I cry again, pawing desperately at the grate. It’s no use.
“Storm!” Lana reappears doorway, face incredulous. Without waiting to find out why I’m ripping the garden apart, she hauls me to my feet.
“Wait—” I start, but she doesn’t.
“Go!” she shouts, shoving me out into the lab.
Naz and Ling have their razers trained on Frog and Noodles, keeping the men’s arms twisted hard behind their backs as they wait for me by the door.
“Swab!” Ling yells at me angrily.
I race to join them, flicking the soft swab under the reader. Nothing happens.
“Open the door!” Naz yells at Frog.
“We can’t,” he growls. “Security’s in lockdown—doors only open from the outside.”
Acting almost simultaneously, Naz and Ling aim their razers at the long, interior windows that separate the lab from the corridor outside, and fire. Two pulses of burning white light hit the window. It shatters spectacularly into a fountain of breaking glass. I duck, shielding my face. By the time I open my eyes, the others are already climbing through the window, still with the hostages. My boots crunch through splinters of glass as I run for the window. Kicking the jagged shards out of the way, I go to swing a leg over the window ledge. “Here.” Lana offers me a hand.
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